


Missing

by EllieRose101



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 05:24:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15834618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieRose101/pseuds/EllieRose101
Summary: It was a hell of a day. How had it gone from almost casual conversation as they lay under a rug together, to her leaving him, beaten and bloody, in an alley? More importantly, how could she find her way back to the easy place they had been? (Set at the end of Dead Things.)





	Missing

One Shot 

There was a lot to process. Even more than there had been just a day ago.

Buffy was always amazed at how much could change in such a short space of time. She was trembling as she walked to Spike’s crypt only to hesitate at his door. Again.

Relief flooded her a second later when she felt his presence on the other side. It meant he’d made it out of the alley and that some demon hadn’t come along and finished him off while he wasn’t able to defend himself.

Good.

She couldn’t have that on her conscience as well as everything else. What’s more, she couldn’t lose him. She knew that now. But maybe it was already too late for that. After what she’d done, how could he be anything _but_ lost to her?

She’d stood at the door, her hand poised to knock, for so long, she was sure he must have felt her presence, too. Yet he hadn’t opened up or said anything. That was a bad sign. One she totally deserved.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, she knocked.

“Spike?”

“Yeah?” he answered, his voice sounding tired. Irritated.

She pushed the door open and saw him sat in his chair, staring mindlessly at the turned-off TV, a mug of blood in one hand. The way the candlelight hit his bruises – the way he was still actually, fully bruised – made her gasp. What was almost more shocking was the fact that he didn’t comment on it; didn’t have any snark to offer about what she’d done.

The tears she’d been fighting all night that had eventually come out during her conversation with Tara returned to her eyes now.

“Oh god, Spike. I’m so sorry!”

He looked up at her, his eyes as narrowed in suspicion as the swelling would allow.

She didn’t allow herself to look away as she repeated, “I’m so sorry.”

Still, he didn’t say anything. The silence between them cut like knives. “Can I…” she began, before feeling her nerves kick in again.

“Can you what?” he snapped, wincing at the sudden movement of his jaw. “Haven’t you done enough?”

“Please,” she said, not really knowing what she was asking for and knowing for damn sure that, whatever it was, she didn’t deserve it. “I’m sorry.”

After another long look, he asked, “Are you?”

“Yes,” she said, the word warbled in her throat.

He sighed. “Well, alright then. There’s beer in the fridge, if you want. I could be ready for action in an hour or so. Maybe half that if you refill my blood.”

With startled steps, she walked over to his chair and took the mug from his fingers. It was cold.

“You would really just forgive me like that?” she questioned, knowing it was true but still finding it hard to believe.

“Yes,” he said, plainly, before looking away. “Did always admit to being a fool.”

She set the mug aside and stepped closer to him again. The words ‘can I…’ played at her lips again, but she pushed them aside and instead asked, “Will you let me try and make up for it?”

He looked back at her. “Eh?”

“Do you mind?” she said tentatively, as she moved as if to sit in his lap.

He shifted in his seat, as if not knowing how to react. “Are you asking for permission, Slayer?”

She swallowed. “Yeah, I… I just, you know, don’t want to hurt you again.”

His eyes looked deep into hers and she found herself brushing away more tears.

“Is that so?”

With a tiny nod, she placed herself gently next to him and bared her throat. “Take what you need,” she said as she closed her eyes.

Nothing happened. The breath she had felt across her skin stopped and she forced her eyes open again to gaze at him. They were so close. She could feel the power in his body, underneath her, around her, and felt the overwhelming desire to touch it rise up in her again.

“Buffy?” he said softly.

“I’m here,” she whispered back. “I’m sorry.”

She figured that’s when he really believed her, because he leaned forward and kissed her, almost chastely; experimentally.

Placing a careful hand either side of his head, she said, “I’ve missed you. The weird kind of friendship we had. I… I miss that. I think I got lost.” Then she lowered his head to her throat, gasping when he licked the flesh he found there.

“Spike,” she said, “I trust you.”

The words seemed to unlock something within him, because his demon came forth and his whole body surged against her as he slid his fangs in – a hot knife through butter – and drank until she was dizzy.

When he stopped, she held on to him and he held back, his arms locked like iron around her. They sat for a long time, like that, before both of them were steady enough to go downstairs.

For the first time, he made love to her and she gave herself over to it. She stayed the night, pressed to his side, awake but more at ease than ever.

“Come to the house,” she said, when he started to shift in a way that she knew meant dawn wasn’t far away. “I can take care of you there.”

“Yeah?” he said, the word sounding scared on his lips.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said. “Not like that. Not ever again. I… I’ve really missed you and I’m sorry.”

He managed a small smile. “Gettin’ to be quite the broken record on that count,” he said.

“I know,” she said, “But I need you to know. I don’t know how else to make up for it.”

He kissed her forehead. “You’re doin’ it now. Bein’ like this, here. Buffy, it’s all I wanted.”

“I know,” she said again, resisting the urge to apologise some more. It was like she’d dammed them all up and now she’d let one out she couldn’t stop the flood of all the rest. “I want it too,” she confessed after a minute. “Can you…”

“Can I?” he pressed.

She tried hard not to cry again and just about succeeded. “I need your help,” she said, biting her lip. “I was missing, I think, for a while.”

He looked at her, head tilted, as she concluded, “I think I’m finally ready to let you find me.”


End file.
